Untitled, but this is only temporary!
by Mordorian Firehawk
Summary: Faramir is tired of all the praise going to his older brother, Boromir, and wants to help Gondor himself by stopping the attacks on Osigiliath...but is this a wise move when all you've got is a small band of rangers? This is my first fic, so PLEASE R&R, d
1. Battle in Osgiliath

Disclaimer: The characters belong to JRR Tolkien, not me. I am just using them!

Chapter One

"Fire!" cried Faramir. Three hundred Gondorian arches released their bowstrings; three hundred arrows soared into the air. The advancing party of Orcs were stopped dead in their tracks. Most of them were slain before they hit the ground, arrows protruding from various parts of their bodies.

"Well done!" Boromir put a hand on Faramir's shoulder, "You saved some lives there!"

"Thanks," said Faramir, "I'm going to lead my Rangers up the West Bank and intercept the Orcs. Hopefully we'll be able to stop them, and the Dark Lord will have to rethink his plan.

"Good idea! Go!" said Boromir as the next wave of Orcs jumped out of their landing crafts. Boromir drew his sword and ran forwards; the soldiers did likewise. He slashed at an Orc. It blocked and lunged at him. Boromir sidestepped and plunged his dagger into the creature's throat. Black blood ran down the blade and onto his hand, discoloring the scarlet glove he wore. He hastily yanked the blade out and hurled it into the closest Orc who fell down choking on its own blood.

Orc archers started firing arrows from the boats, now swaying in the current of the River Andúin.

"Shields up! Tortoise formation!" yelled Boromir. Obediently, the soldiers lifted their shields over their heads and the ones on the outside of the formation held their shields by the sides with bent arms. "Spears out!" instructed Boromir over the noise of the battle, "Advance!"

When the soldiers were within accurate range of the Orcs, Boromir shouted,

"Break formation and prepare your bows!" The archers jumped out of formation and knocked their arrows. "Draw…FIRE!" Boromir shouted. The archers loosed their arrows with deadly effect. The hail of arrows from the boats ceased.

"Kill the beasts! Don't let them regroup!" yelled Boromir. He decapitated an Orc with a quick swing of his sword. Dark blood stained his blade that had been given to him by his father. He had once been told that Orc blood eats away at the steel of one's blade. Grabbing his victim's spear, he flung it at the Orc chieftain. The lance rammed into the monster and the Orc fell to the ground. Seeing the fate that had befallen their commander, the other Orcs tried to flee, but were cut down. "Victory!" bellowed Boromir, as he strode over to where his dagger lay, imbedded in an Orc's throat. He retrieved it and cleaned both it and his broadsword before sheathing them. "Victory for Gondor! Victory in Osgiliath!" Then he mounted his horse to tell his father, King Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, of their triumph.

TBC.


	2. Injury

_A/N: Sorry that I haven't updated in a while! I will be posting about once a week, just thought I'd let readers know. On with chapter two!_

Chapter Two: Injury

Faramir and his Rangers headed west, following the track but making sure to keep to the trees. At nightfall they stopped to make camp and have something to eat.

xoox

Faramir waited until all his Rangers, except for the watchman, slept before he set off. He took his bow and swung his quiver over his back. The Ranger lay down and crawled on his belly to the nearest tree, careful to avoid detection. He didn't want to answer any awkward questions. He grabbed one of the tree branches and let himself down the steep bank onto the track.

xoox

Faramir followed the winding path for two miles before he found the orc camp he had been seeking. The orcs were camped with Haradrim and a huge múmak stood nearby. When he was young, Faramir had been taught a rhyme about the big creatures, but he was not in particularly good spirits and did not care to recall it at this moment. Suddenly the Ranger had an idea. All he needed to do to stop this group of orcs and Haradrim from laying waste to Osgiliath was to shoot the múmak – it would go wild and tear down the camp, killing most of the occupants. Slowly, Faramir reached for an arrow, his hand trembling. He was so intent on his task that he did not hear the soft footsteps behind him.

xoox

"We'll have none of that!" said a shrill voice behind him, "Or I'll stick you in the belly!" The Ranger dived backwards but then shrieked as the orc plunged a knife into his side. A second pain lanced through him and he knew that the knife had been pulled out. Faramir looked up at his attacker from his position on the ground. Its face had a huge scratch down it and its grubby helmet barely fitted onits head. In the creature's hand was a long, dirty knife, raised high above its head. "I warned you didn't I – no funny business, but you didn't listen, did you? Now you shall die!" Faramir raised his hands in an attempt to shield himself. All of a sudden, something black landed on the Ranger's tunic, which was very rapidly becoming blood-soaked. He looked up. The orc, who was swaying slightly, slumped down onto his side. In its back, buried nearly up to its fletchings of seabirds' feathers, was an arrow, a Gondorian arrow. Someone had come to his rescue. Then, the Ranger's world went blurred, and all went black.

_Sorry for the short chapter, I'll try to make them longer!_ _The one that I'm currently working on should be a bit lengthier. _

_-Mordorian Firehawk- _


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